


Equivalent

by bamboozledbylife



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: A tad bittersweet because of who they are as people, Dare I say... emotional intimacy?, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 15:31:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15367689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bamboozledbylife/pseuds/bamboozledbylife
Summary: Hisoka says words he shouldn't say, presses them against skin he shouldn't touch, and feels things he won't admit. To him, faith is an ugly word, but the man in his bed is divine.I want to take you apart and put you back together all wrong.





	Equivalent

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr bamboozledbylife!

Sometimes he speaks before he can stop himself. Hisoka is a liar, a cheat. He crafts falsities with a smile, sells them with glee. Sometimes he's honest before he has the mind to lie. Sometimes his mouth works faster than his brain.  
It's a terrible liability.  
He can't seem to puzzle out the cause, every reason seems circumstantial. That is to say, it hinges on two circumstances. One, he is with Illumi. Two, he is only with Illumi. It happens at no other time, with no one else.  
If only he could figure out why.

He has an idea, certainly. But he doesn't like his answers, so he pretends he doesn't have them. Instead he lets the words spill out of his mouth like water through his fingers, and when he sees him for the first time in months they’re a hushed whisper murmured against the other’s skin. _I missed you._

They don't have much time, they never do. He saves them both his awkward truths, all teeth, all hands. Illumi doesn't melt, he isn't capable; he sinks nonetheless. He sinks into the fleeting touches, the hungry kisses, the burning pressure. He loses the things that keep him up at night for as long as he is able. He pushes for more and Hisoka is always eager to oblige. 

The way to the bed is an awkward stumble. Tangled together, sharp teeth, sharper nails. Blood leaks, coats tongues, teeth, finger, bodies. Streaks of scarlet smeared on the sheets, on their skin, glorious in contrast. Playful and grim in equal measure.  
Their kisses turn iron, mix with a flavor much too cinnamon to be bubblegum. They leave stains on the mattress, the blankets, the headboard. The wall. Like a crime scene; like a painting, red and white, bodies marred black and blue. Brilliant scarlet drying deep carmine. 

The franticness is fleeting, gives for heavy breathing, heaving chests. Gentle reassurances tied heart to heart. 

Hands aren't waterproof. Hisoka’s mouth is rarely still. He says words he shouldn't say, presses them against skin he shouldn't touch, and feels things he won't admit. To him, faith is an ugly word, but the man in his bed is divine. _I want to take you apart and put you back together all wrong._

Wide eyes and breathy secrets. A world consisting of just them and the things they don't say. Polluted, terrorized, by the things Hisoka can't stop himself from saying. Their’s was an elaborate balancing act, complicated from both ends, and when the words drip with the blood from his lips Illumi pretends he doesn't hear him. _I could make you so happy if you'd only let me._

The human brain is a wonderful thing. We're all skittish creatures, instinctually. Our survival mechanisms are scripted into our very DNA. These instincts tell us that new, foreign things, that cannot be easily categorized, are dangerous. Better safe than sorry.

Illumi is a cautious man, but he has never been afraid of Hisoka. Right now, his body screams: _run._ The human brain fears what it cannot understand, and Illumi has never been more lost in his life. People don't miss him, they don't want him, they don't try and make him happy.

So he pushes the words down with the emotions they invoke. He doesn't respond, he never responds. Hisoka speaks to the shell next to him, tries to coax words out. It's an art, not a science, and when he asks, _what’s so wrong with that?_ He doesn't anticipate a response.  
But the words flood out tonight, and Illumi tastes that unbidden honesty between his own teeth, wracked with the pangs of vulnerability he cannot possibly allow. _I feel like a ghost possessing my own body, and when you say things like that it feels like diving into a frozen lake._

“The truth will set you free,” an age old adage. The oppressive weight in his lungs feels like anything but freedom. Weakness is shameful, disgraceful. Spitting on everything he'd ever been raised to be. The embarrassment makes him stiff, mechanical; he carries the tension in his shoulders, much too obviously. He grits his teeth and spits the question, _why do you have to make everything so complicated?_

Hisoka is rarely silent, never speechless. He talks when he's nervous, makes idle chatter when uncomfortable. A million words stick in his throat, none quite right. Nothing even almost good enough. Nothing comparable to the piety this man inspires. His life had been a string of infatuations, each more trivial than the last. This should've been a fling, just another passing fancy. He wasn't built for love. And yet. 

These words are decisive, chosen with specificity, with purpose, calm and slow. _Tell me you'd rather be somewhere else, with someone else. Say it and mean it, and this can be easy again._

The request is loaded, burdened in consequence. The answer is hollow, devoid of naught but despair. The only filter he has left is his heart in his throat. His selfish wants betray him, time and again. They force piteous, crumbling, sentences, out of a man who has spent his life destroying such things. _Why does everything have to be so difficult? There's never been an “easy” for us._

Perhaps in another life, this could be easy for them. A kinder world, a softer one. One with parents who had loved and nurtured. A life bereft of the scores of people who'd hurt, demolished, taken advantage. A life that permitted caring, compassion. 

A life that had been for neither of them. Illumi was right, they (as them) had never been easy. Relationships didn't come naturally, but the pain often did. Hurt was their substitute for something more substantial. The wounds bring endorphins, the context- dopamine, the closeness- oxytocin, and the quiet after- serotonin. The human brain is a wonderful thing, and this cocktail lights it up just right. That part has always been easy. Even for them. 

Silence settles in the absence of closure. Hisoka’s ever so fond of gum and right now it wires his jaw shut. He devolves, reduced to the static in his head and the thunder in his chest. He doesn't have the right words, doesn't even have decent ones. Instead he speaks his mind, and hopes Illumi understands. _When I lay here and I think of you, sometimes I forget to breathe._

_You cannot forget to breathe_ , it’s an accusation, stern and biting, _it’s an autonomic function, your body will force you if you stop._ (Strong words for a man whose breath keeps catching in his chest.) Hisoka lets the observation drop, sidesteps the most obvious fight. For the first time in his life, he isn't here to argue. He's said too much to back down now. They both have. 

_You missed the point, my dear._ Nothing on earth could possibly feel more exposing, forget wearing your heart on your sleeve, this was like ripping the damn thing out of his chest. _I meant to call you precious, more so than oxygen._

Never in his life had Hisoka wished he was lying as badly as he did right now. Never in his life had the truth slithered under his skin with such fury. Illumi looks at him, blank, despondent. The usual mask. It breaks to show disgust, frustration. It breaks for rejection, _whatever you think I am to you, I'm not._

Illumi was touchy at the best of times, and this wasn’t his finest. Years had taught Hisoka when to push through, when to back up. This comment deterred him not at all, doing the opposite, in fact. It gives him something to prove, something to fight. 

He'd fought for less. He'd fought for worse. It doesn't sound like a challenge when he says it, but it reeks of sticky sweet promises, _you could be, if you wanted. If you stayed. Please, stay, I'm not going anywhere._

If Hisoka saw himself a rose, beckoning a busy bee, Illumi saw him a pitcher plant. By the time he realized the saccharine syllables for what they were, he was already stuck to this bed, this man. He shouldn’t want to stay, he shouldn't want these things. And yet. 

Part of him wants so badly to wrap himself in Hisoka and never let go. He wants to believe the sweet nothings, the adamant protestations; the nearly inaudible whispers meant only for his ears.  
It’s a terrible liability.

An assassin is nothing without self-control. His entire childhood had consisted of nothing but learning rigorous self-discipline. Hardly a childhood, at that. Hisoka liked to chip at it whenever he could. Though he wasn't chipping today, he was hacking.  
It was with only the strongest willpower did he manage to lift himself off the bed; it was a hand around his wrist and a split second impulse that dragged him back onto it. The fall was unceremonious, barely a tumble. A soft landing onto a warm bed, into warmer arms. An exasperated sigh, countered with a tinkling laugh. Hot breath next to his ear, teasing. _I said please._

Illumi doesn't fight him, doesn't want to. He relishes this intimacy, a secret too deep even for here. He doesn't have to say it for it to be understood. Hisoka knows what he’s looking for, feeling for. A softer pulse, steadier breathing. A quiet mumble he strains to hear, _I’d stay forever if I had the time._

_Who’s to say you don't?_ It’s a rhetorical question, they both know. The things that corrode their solitude are obvious: Illumi’s family, tantamount to his job, and then his actual job. Hisoka sort of (kind of, not really) has one of those. Miraculously, Illumi’s presence always seems to coincide with his calendar clearing. This miracle has never extended both ways. 

_I have tonight, tomorrow. The whole weekend if you want it._ It’s not a real offer, if for no other reason then he knows it won't be turned down. It's a statement of fact. Hisoka will take whatever he has to give. More, if he can. _It’s never enough, is it?_

_A lifetime wouldn't be long enough, darling._ Heavy with the pet names that sent a spark down his spine. Illumi could swear to hell and back he hated them, Hisoka always caught that light, dusty pink as it settled on his cheekbones. _I wish I could drown in you._

Thousands of ways to say it, and Hisoka will use all but the most obvious. Three of the most common words in the English language and he’ll avoid the combination like the plague. So many words he can't stop, but he'll never say: “I love you.”


End file.
